nd ordered Marchas--you know Pierre de Marchas, who
afterward married little Martel-Auvelin, the daughter of the Marquis de
Martel-Auvelin--to go alone into the village, and to report to me what
he saw.

I had selected nothing but volunteers, all men of good family. It is
pleasant when on duty not to be forced to be on intimate terms with
unpleasant fellows. This Marchas was as smart as possible, cunning as a
fox and supple as a serpent. He could scent the Prussians as a dog can
scent a hare, could discover food where we should have died of hunger
without him, and obtained information from everybody, and information
which was always reliable, with incredible cleverness.

In ten minutes he returned. "All right," he said; "there have been no
Prussians here for three days. It is a sinister place, is this village.
I have been talking to a Sister of Mercy, who is caring for four or five
wounded men in an abandoned convent."

I ordered them to ride on, and we entered the principal street. On the
right and left we could vaguely see roofless walls, which were hardly
visible in the profound darkness. Here and there a light was burning in
a room; some family had remained to keep its house standing as well as
they were able; a family of brave or of poor people. The rain began to
fall, a fine, icy cold rain, which froze as it fell on our cloaks.
The horses stumbled against stones, against beams, against furniture.
Marchas guided us, going before us on foot, and leading his horse by the
bridle.

"Where are you taking us to?" I asked him. And he replied: "I have a
place for us to lodge in, and a rare good one." And we presently stopped
before a small house, evidently belonging to some proprietor of the
middle class. It stood on the street, was quite inclosed, and had a
garden in the rear.

Marchas forced open the lock by means of a big stone which he picked up
near the garden gate; then he mounted the steps, smashed in the front
door with his feet and shoulders, lit a bit of wax candle, which he was
never without, and went before us into the comfortable apartments of
some rich private individual, guiding us with admirable assurance, as if
he lived in this house which he now saw for the first time.

Two troopers remained outside to take care of our horses, and Marchas
said to stout Ponderel, who followed him: "The stables must be on the
left; I saw that as we came in; go and put the animals up there, for we
do not need them;" a